Nineteen years
Just old enough to think you've seen it all
This stop sign's an undramatic curtain call

A collection of all my fears
Collecting thoughts
I caught my breath
In a newer knapsack to salvage what was left of you

I packed my things and carried them home
And then I carried you home

Safety surrounds me
In late light security

A vision quest on city streets
Obscuring where the city sleeps all night.

The headlights don't work this time

The headlight are held on the turn signal's swan song.

I sold your things to call up a cab
And you picked up the tab

300 bucks
Your body's on the trunk
Engine is locked
The rope is in the trunk

I counted backwards
I counted hours
I counted ways to pick your frame apart